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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24859870">The stars are all my friends</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffingtea/pseuds/spiffingtea'>spiffingtea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camping, Fluff, Jaskier is introspective, Lullabies, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:36:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24859870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffingtea/pseuds/spiffingtea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier wonders if witchers truly sleep.</p><p>*</p><p>Jaskier muses on the witcher he follows, and finds himself in an unexpected position.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>357</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The stars are all my friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormchasersteve/gifts">stormchasersteve</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a very belated birthday gift for the lovely P. Hope you all enjoy some fluff with a dash of comfort. &lt;3</p><p>Please drop a kudos and comment if you enjoy. Or come find me on tumblr/twitter w/ my handle spiffingtea!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier wonders if witchers ever truly sleep.</p><p>The stars, ever persistent in their scattered presence, dapple through the bare branches of the forest. He had insisted, really, that they should have remained in the inn back in the town several hours ago. Geralt had trudged in from a contract, and just as Jaskier felt he was <em> getting </em> somewhere with a particularly lovely dimpled red-head, the witcher had insisted they move on - or rather, with one curt look to the lady giggling beside him - that <em> Geralt </em> would move on. </p><p>Jaskier should’ve stayed. He would’ve had warm sheets, <em> much </em>less chance of getting impaled by some horrible beastie, and have been void of the lingering smell of a horse that seemed ignorant of the concept of hygiene by it or its owner. </p><p>But who else would there be to tell about Geralt? This doddering, grumpy witcher who could barely get through a conversation without riling up half a town. Jaskier isn’t sure how the man survived before he met him; the man killed monsters for a living, but seemed particularly adept at drawing out the monsters within men. </p><p>Jaskier wonders why. </p><p>He wasn’t blind, of course. He’d seen the disparaging looks thrown Geralt’s way; he’d heard the comments. He’d seen how other men had started to curl their shoulders, tower above the witcher - until Jaskier bobbed into view, blinding them with his <em> dashing </em> good looks and charm. Or maybe to them, it was like seeing a werewolf walking around with a puppy. Confusing, yet an amazingly effective deterrent. </p><p>Is that why Geralt kept him around? He knows if he asked him this, Geralt would instantly answer with a yes, without looking at him. But you didn’t need puppies in the middle of the woods. </p><p>Jaskier leans his head back against the rugged cloth that he had laid down prior with a sigh. The stars permeate the inside of his eyelids. He should write a song about them, someday. </p><p>He feels the weight on his stomach shift, and the bard opens an eye. Geralt, with his eyes shut and head resting on Jaskier’s chest, grunts. Jaskier watches him. </p><p><em> Your hair is a </em> <b> <em>mess</em></b><b>, </b> <em> Geralt. Let me sort it out. It’ll take two minutes - no, people will end up thinking you’re a Harpy or something if you keep letting it go like this - I’ve got a comb gifted to me by the esteemed wife of… </em></p><p>They’d both sat there - Jaskier perched on his bag, just to get a chance of reaching the ridiculously broad man’s head, and Geralt cross legged on the floor of the forest. The trees around them were swathed in ridiculous oranges and pinks. The crisp autumn made for leaves to discard themselves in the slightest breeze, pirouetting to their inevitable demise in the cycle of natural life. At some point, a large, particularly crisp one skimmed itself onto Geralt’s shoulder, and their hands knocked as they both reached to brush it away. Jaskier feels himself freeze as Geralt tilts his head to look at him, and his words blurt out from his mouth before he can even <em> begin </em> to proofread them.</p><p>“Even the leaves are drawn to you, my brutishly handsome friend.” </p><p>Wishing he could roll his eyes at <em> himself</em>, Geralt’s expression is unchanging. Except for the small smirk that plies at his lips.</p><p>Geralt is <em> smirking? </em> Geralt <em> can smirk? </em></p><p>The witcher gives Jaskier no more, shifting his head to face forward again, obscuring any non-verbal communication there may be left to share. So be it. Such a cliché compliment was barely deserving of leaving Jaskier’s mouth to begin with. </p><p>As expected, Geralt’s hair is knotted far beyond any belief system Jaskier could profess to; darkness begins to settle much quicker than it had any right to. The campfire they had started hands them their only source of light; licking shadows across the sides of hands and torsos and cheeks. Jaskier is more than grateful he’s found himself tackling this atrocity of a hairstyle on a witcher. If Jaskier were in his position he would’ve given up entirely and requested his head be shaved lest he spend another moment enduring the pain it must cause. </p><p>Instead, he feels Geralt’s shoulders start to slacken. Was this… <em> relaxing </em> to him?</p><p>“Uhm, Geralt,” Jaskier protests quietly as the man starts to lean backwards, all his weight giving the bard no choice but to lean back with him. “This isn’t--”</p><p>Geralt’s eyes are closed. They’re both laid down by the time Jaskier realises that Geralt is <em> asleep </em> . Was he <em> that </em> tired? Or?...</p><p>His fingers are still tangled in Geralt’s hair, gripping loosely at the comb. Geralt’s head presses against his chest, as though Jaskier has sought out a new career as a professional witcher pillow in the last few minutes. Jaskier stares at him, expecting the witcher to suddenly awake, more grumpy than he’s ever been, and somehow accuse <em> him </em> for becoming a human mattress. </p><p>But he doesn’t. Geralt’s expression is nothing but peaceful. </p><p>Do witchers dream? </p><p>Jaskier watches him for what could be hours, when Geralt’s mouth twitches. He finds himself hoping that with witchers having to put themselves at the brink of horror each and every day, they’d find solace in dreams about kittens and flowers. But he knows that’s not how dreams work.</p><p>When he feels Geralt’s body tense above him, accompanied with another grunt, Jaskier sighs. “Hey, big fella.” He murmurs. Fingers reach to squeeze at his shoulder. “They’re not going to hurt anyone.” </p><p>The tension doesn’t quite leave him, so Jaskier’s spare hand drops the comb. He gently runs his fingers through the man’s mostly-combed hair (surprising himself with how at ease he feels doing it). He’s not entirely sure Geralt is or <em> can </em> have nightmares, or even if he’s actually sleeping, but he’s spent enough time around the witcher to know he’s… not relaxed. Jaskier sighs, and does what he knows best. </p><p>“<em> When you’re all alone </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> Far away from home…” </em></p><p>He pauses. Geralt hasn’t woken up and slapped him, as of yet. His own singing emboldens him, and he keeps stroking fingers through ashen hair. </p><p><em> “Everyday must end </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> But the night’s our friend…” </em></p><p>Miraculously, Geralt’s shoulders ease. Jaskier almost ruins his note by sharply inhaling in surprise. He is a trained bard, alas, and the skip is barely evident in the traces of his voice.</p><p>“<em> Isn’t that a wonder? </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> When you’re alone…” </em></p><p>Geralt is snoring. Soft, not unlike a cat’s purr. <em> Snoring </em> . Do witchers <em> snore </em>?</p><p>“<em> You’re not alone </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> Not… really alone.” </em></p><p>Silence, naught for the gentle crackle of branches curling in the fire, but for the breeze that scatters through the trees even in the night. Jaskier lays there, with Geralt sleeping on him. No motion from the witcher, but the gentle roll of his snore, the steady rising of his chest. </p><p>If witchers didn’t truly sleep, Jaskier hopes that Geralt is at least as close as one could get. </p><p>“Sleep well, my white wolf.” Jaskier murmurs, fingers curling in Geralt’s hair. He gazes up, into the infinite expanse of the night. “There is at least one star watching over you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bonus points for anyone who knows the song that Jaskier sings. ;)</p><p>Thanks for reading! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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